Mr Kent goes to Gotham
by President Luthor
Summary: Chloe and Clark attend a journalism conference at Gotham City as guests of billionnaire socialite Bruce Wayne. They are soon entangled in a deadly game of politics, revenge and personal tragedies. And someone pays the ultimate price for heroism.
1. CH. 1

"Mr. Kent goes to Gotham"  
  
[BACKGROUND: It's summer. This story is based on the premise that Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne have recently become friends. Clark received two tickets to a national journalism conference in gritty Gotham City. Neither Bruce nor Clark will be wearing capes – that I can guarantee. But Bruce is moving relentlessly towards his destiny.]  
  
Clark had waited all summer for this day. He had spent the better part of June on final exams and any spare time sowing the seeds for this season's crops and resupplying the Kent farm. He barely had time to whip up a resume for the journalism conference.  
  
Bruce Wayne, captain of industry, philanthropist and reputed playboy, was the sponsor of this  
  
conference -- a gathering of America's leading journalists, editors and mass media academics. Clark was going to check into the Gotham Hilton, but -at Bruce's insistence- would instead stay at the gothic Wayne Manor. "One of America's finest houses," according to Martha Stewart. Not that Bruce cared for such trivial labels.  
  
He would be Bruce's guest -- as well as Chloe Sullivan. "I have more than enough space for the both of you," Bruce told him via satellite phone. [Bruce was jet-setting, closing a deal in Prague.]  
  
"Gotham awaits us, Clark. First day of the rest of your life ... yadda, yadda, yadda." It was Chloe.  
  
A train departed for Gotham twice a day. If they didn't catch the morning train, they'd have to wait for the afternoon one.  
  
"All aboard. Train to Gotham City departing in five minutes," the porter announced, "Please have your tickets ready."  
  
"Aren't you excited, Clark?" Chloe squealed, "A who's who of American journalism will be there. Perry White, Peter Jennings, Arthur Kent ... no relation to the Smallville Kents, I guess." She nudged Clark on the arm.  
  
Clark's mind was a million miles away. "Did I remember to fertilize the wheat field?" he said aloud.  
  
"Clark! We're on the brink of a life-changing experience ... and you're thinking about manure?!"  
  
They boarded the train. Destination: Gotham City. First settled by the Dutch in the 1600s, it fell to the English, then to George Washington during the Revolution. In the Civil War, the Union Army drew the line at Gotham City -- under the command of a Colonel Jeremiah Wayne, and sent the rebels packing to Gettysburg.  
  
Chloe had devoured volumes of articles and press clippings about the colorful history of Gotham City. He liked her curiosity.  
  
"If the Waynes were any more American," Chloe concluded, "they'd be bald eagles."  
  
"I'll tell him you said that," Clark said as he took his seat on the train. Chloe gave him a not-to-friendly kick in the shins. Once at Gotham Federal Station, Alfred would take them to the Wayne estate.  
  
"It's a five hour train ride," Clark read his ticket.  
  
"That gives us time to get acquainted, Mr. Kent," Chloe grinned.  
  
I knew it, Clark determined, I DID forget to fertilize the wheat field. 


	2. CH. 2

"Mr. Kent goes to Gotham" - Chapter 2  
  
Their inhibitions went out the window. Clark held Chloe's face in his hands. And kissed her. Clark Kent would not wait a moment longer. The train was cramped and it was coach, but Clark didn't care. He was with the woman he loved. Chloe gave him a peck on his forehead. "The VIP car is to the front of us," Chloe cooed, "we'll have more space ... to move around and get it on."  
  
Clark woke up. What the hell was that? Drool was spilling down the corner of his mouth. He checked his watch. Two hours had passed. "What happened?"  
  
"You fell asleep soon after we left Smallville," Chloe explained, then nodded at a lunch tray. "It's lunch. Trust me, you didn't miss anything. Pretty intense dream, hmm?"  
  
"I don't know what it was ..." Clark tried to block out any memory of that Harlequin-esque fantasy.  
  
"Lemme guees, you ... Lana ... and your own private Temptation Island?" Why can't I be the girl of his dreams, she wondered.  
  
"What IS this paste?" Clark went off on a tangent – a neat trick he learned from Bruce. Throw off the scent.  
  
"It's supposed to be chicken salad. I doubt it."  
  
Chloe watched Clark poke and prod at the mystery sandwich. He took a bite. She giggled as his expression turned to utter disgust. He seized the chocolate chip cookie and chomped on it. His eyes lit up, as if he just found the fountain of youth.  
  
"Chocolate chip," he mumbled, "Neat-o!"  
  
"Want mine? I don't think I can eat after that sandwich. A girl has to watch what she eats."  
  
Clark looked at her. "You should eat. I'll do the watching."  
  
Three more hours to go, Clark thought, and I'd better not doze off again. Chloe - the 'dream girl version' - may not stop at first base next time.  
  
[Meanwhile, at the Gotham Convention Centre.]  
  
Bruce Wayne, the event sponsor, supervised the final touches to the Excellence in Journalism Conference. Chairs were set up for the lectures. Roundtables arranged for the ID tags, snacks, etc. Three storey banners draped the entranceways.  
  
Then he noticed the signature bald head of a friend/rival.  
  
"Lex, I thought you hated the press. What are you doing here?"  
  
Lex laughed that laugh the monied aristocrats make when they want to cover up a hidden agenda. "Unfortunately, I'm here with Father. Lionel Luthor is a minority shareholder of the Daily Planet. Anyhow I value the media. They help court public opinion for the true leaders of America: the enterprising businessman."  
  
"I'd rather think the press ensures freedom of expression." Bruce wasn't even looking at Lex as he perused a seating plan. He quickly forgot the slight as Metropolis' first citizen marched towards them.  
  
"Lex, arrange a conference call with the board," Lionel Luthor insisted, "Now!"  
  
Lex knew not to irritate his dad when he was flustered and left.  
  
"Why is Wayne Corp. opposing the lumber tariff on the Canadians?" Lionel huffed.  
  
"By hiking the cost of lumber, all that will do is hike the cost of housing for the average American family. The Canucks are on the front lines of Afghanistan as we speak. Surely we can reward them by dropping this silly trade dispute."  
  
"I'll lobby Congress!"  
  
"You do that, Mr. Luthor."  
  
Lionel knew he was getting nowhere. He pasted on his best grin, then marched off again.  
  
"Problem, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, but he didn't need to. Lex may be more accommodating to Bruce; Lionel would not be so cordial.  
  
"Why does he hate my family so much?"  
  
"Ancient history," Alfred shook his head, "Ancient history. Anyway, we have to meet Mr. Kent and Miss Sullivan at Gotham Federal station in half an hour."  
  
Bruce's mood improved. "Let's get going."  
  
[Back on the train ...]  
  
"Please wait for train to come to a complete stop." The train whistle blew. A slight jolt, and the Smallville train had arrived at one of America's great cities.  
  
Chloe squeezed Clark's arm. "We're here, we're here, we're here," she screamed, then did what seemed to be a human version of the Snoopy dance."  
  
Clark didn't want to dance. The chicken salad sandwich was best before today.  
  
"I've got to get a chocolate bar or something," Clark said.  
  
"Can you get me one, too?" Chloe reached into a purse. Suddenly, a man dashed past her, yanking her purse. Chloe fell to the ground.  
  
Clark dropped his bags and chased the thief. Dammit, he swore, it's so crowded in here. No super speed this time. He ran upstairs to the ticket hall.  
  
The thief was at the main entrance. Once on the streets of Gotham, he'd be scot free. SMACK! Bruce swung with his right fist, knocking the wind out of the thief, who managed to still slip by him. Alfred grabbed the thief's arm and twisted it, slamming him against the wall.  
  
"Nice move!" Chloe exclaimed and retrieved her purse.  
  
"After 15 years in the Royal Navy," Alfred shrugged, "I learned a few street-fighting tactics."  
  
"Thanks, guys." Clark finally found them.  
  
"Welcome to Gotham City, such as it is," Bruce muttered. 


	3. CH. 3

Chapter 3  
  
[Wayne Manor]  
  
It looked like a gothic English castle. Towers and ramparts. Stained glass windows. My farm could fit in that estate, Clark mused.  
  
"This is too much!" Chloe stared in awe at Wayne Manor. "We don't ... have to stay here."  
  
"Nonsense," Bruce insisted, "It'll be good to see people other than Alfred's dour face around here."  
  
"You say that now, but when you're down to your last pair of boxers, you'll be singing a different tune," Alfred quipped.  
  
Chloe was in a mischievous mood. "So Clark, boxers or briefs?"  
  
Clark's mind was wandering. "Are those horse stables?"  
  
"We'll go riding." Bruce stretched out on the limo couch. "Chloe can go to, if she likes."  
  
"I looove horses!"  
  
The limo pulled into the circular driveway. To the left of the arched doorway was a huge stone angel kneeling with a sword. Beside it to the right was a stone dragon.  
  
"It kinda looks like a bat," Chloe joked. Apparently, Bruce and Alfred didn't find that funny and rushed them into the main hall."  
  
It was lined with wooden panelling and several portraits. Edward Wayne, the patriot who captured Fort Gotham from Cornwallis during the Revolution. Union colonel Jeremiah Wayne, who halted the Confederates at Gotham City - steering them to the pivotal Gettysburg bloodbath. On a small table was a framed picture of Bruce's father with Jimmy Carter at Camp David.  
  
"You really know your Gotham history, Chloe," Bruce noted.  
  
"I like to be prepared. Your dad was instrumental in thawing Soviet-US relations, no matter what the Reaganites say."  
  
Bruce laughed. "I prefer business to politics. I'll let you guys get settled. The car will be by to get you in an hour."  
  
Chloe got the largest guestroom, complete with private bathroom. Clark got the room across from her.  
  
"I'm afraid the boys will be sharing bathrooms, Mr. Kent," Alfred outlined, "You may use the house as you see fit. There's construction in the basement, however. Private wine cellars, that sort of thing. Please stay away. We wouldn't want either of you to step on a nail."  
  
"Sure thing."  
  
"Bruce values your friendship." Alfred descended the staircase.  
  
"I value his." Clark replied, then knocked on Chloe's door. "Alfred says we should stay out of the basement. Construction."  
  
"What's in the basement?" Chloe wondered. Clark saw an inquisitive gleam in her eyes. Uh-oh, he thought, I hope she doesn't poke around the house too much.  
  
[Gotham Convention Center - two hours later]  
  
Clark and Chloe spent the past hour visiting the different booths. We're way out of our league, they told themselves. At least Chloe had a summer job waiting for her at the Daily Planet. Clark didn't even get his foot in the door. Another summer of hay.  
  
"Perry White will be giving the opening address soon. We'd better take our seats."  
  
Chloe had a smart navy blue pantsuit and power pumps on.  
  
"Verrrry Dana Scully," Clark observed.  
  
"I'd rather wear jeans," Chloe pouted, "and YOU look nothing like David Duchovny."  
  
"Speaking of bald, power-tripping managers ...." Clark began.  
  
"Hi Clark, Chloe," Lex shook their hands. "Just a heads-up. My father is in the building. Oh, there's the head of NBC. Excuse me."  
  
Clark watched Lex schmooze effortlessly with the attendees. I could never do that, he told himself. The next few minutes seemed like a blur. "I'm Bruce Wayne, welcome to ..." A murmur of voices. Perry White takes the stage. "After 9-11, now more than ever, our work must continue ....." Applause. Chloe pointing out GCTV reporter Summer Gleeson. "She looks like Alicia Witt ..." A man with no tie. Turtleneck. He's reaching for something. A gun. Bruce takes the podium. The audience ducks. Lex and his bodyguards dash towards the stage. Clark gets up. Everything seems to be in slow motion. "Get down, Clark." Was that Chloe or Lex? "Not again," Bruce had mouthed. The gun fires. Clark sees himself lunging into the bullet's path. He falls onto Tom Brokaw, it seems. "Call a doctor! A doctor!!" Lights fade, then turn to black.  
  
He hears an angel. "Clark, it's going to be alright."  
  
An angel - that looked like Barbara Walters??? 


	4. CH. 4

Chapter 4  
  
The darkness became light again. He wasn't dead after all.  
  
"You'll be fine, son," Tom Brokaw declared. Barbara. Katie. Peter. Dan. The elite of American journalism hovered over Clark Kent.  
  
"The bullet must have grazed your temple," Lex said. Clark rubbed his head. Just a bump, Clark thought. Most likely from falling onto NBC's lead anchor.  
  
"Thank god you're ok," Bruce gratefully enthused.  
  
"What happened? Did you catch the guy?" Clark asked.  
  
"We don't know what went down. One of Lex's henchmen shot the gunman dead." Chloe replied.  
  
"My security detail," Lex protested, "One can never be too careful these days. Someone wants you dead, Bruce."  
  
"I hate guns," Bruce stated.  
  
The conference room became a media frenzy. Summer Gleeson, GCTV reporter (and coincidentally the latest in a string of Bruce's flames, according to Gotham tabloids) shoved a microphone into Chloe's face.  
  
"Your comments on the attempt on Bruce Wayne's life? Do you think it was politically motivated?"  
  
Bruce pushed aside the microphone. "Not now, Summer." He looked at Lex. Lex immediately understood. Reporters began to surge towards Clark.  
  
"Boys, you know what to do." A dozen of Lex's bodyguards formed a V-like human fence around Clark, Chloe and Bruce. Lex stood at the tip of the V. "Bruce has no comment at this time."  
  
Chloe shielded her face from the endless camera flashes. "Is that starlet Bruce's latest conquest?" Bruce was clearly getting more annoyed with each passing minute.  
  
"This is starting to get scary," Clark said. The bodyguards pushed and shoved their way to the entrance. Alfred was waiting with the limousine.  
  
"Inside! Quickly!" Everyone climbed into the limo. It looked like every media outlet in America was outside.  
  
"Was the attack politically motivated? Any thoughts, Mr. Wayne on this incident? Is that blonde your new girlfriend? What's the name of that friend who saved your life? Just one question, please, Brucie. Do you think this has anything to do with the death of your father?"  
  
Bruce ripped off his necktie and flung it onto the limo floor. "I hate this paparazzi crap!!"  
  
"Goddamn media," Lex added, "Leeches, every @#!% one of them!" One of Lex's goons apparently clocked a cameraman who was now crying harassment.  
  
"They're ... they're only doing their job," Chloe protested meekly, as the limo screeched away.  
  
Bruce and Lex glared at her. Lex dialed his cell – something about doubling his 'security detail'. Bruce barked some order to Alfred, who was clearly NOT amused. Alfred honked the horn. "Bloody hell! Would you move that satellite truck!!"  
  
"Umm, Chloe," Clark counselled, "now's not the time to debate the pros and cons of media access." 


	5. CH. 5

Chapter 5  
  
Alfred applied a gauze bandage to Clark's forehead. "There Mr. Kent, good as new. I could call Master Bruce's doctor ..."  
  
"I'm fine, thanks. I'm pretty sure the bullet missed me." Clark checked himself for any more wounds, then fumbled the shattered bullet casing in his pocket. That was TOO close, he sighed.  
  
"Woo hoo! Topless Clark!" Chloe squealed, trying to lighten the mood. Alfred raised his proper English eyebrow in mild disapproval.  
  
"I apologize for being abrupt with you all in the limo," Bruce pleaded.  
  
"I can't blame you," Clark replied while buttoning his shirt, "The past few hours could test anyone's patience."  
  
"Yes," Alfred added, "but rudeness has no place among gentlemen." He looked directly at Bruce.  
  
Bruce bowed his head in shame. "Yes, Alfred." Bruce walked slowly out of the living room, with Alfred behind him. The living room was the size of a barn, Clark thought, but I guess it qualifies as a living room since it has a TV – well, two GIANT ones – a handful of DVD players, the mandatory Playstation 2, three computers, leather couches galore, a mini-bar and a wall of priceless Roman artifacts. This wasn't a living room. It was the ultimate "guy's den."  
  
"Cool, photo albums!" Chloe sat herself on the floor and flipped through them.  
  
"Maybe they're private," Clark feared.  
  
"He's not James Bond, Clark," Chloe replied, "Anyhow, it was Alfred who brought them over for us."  
  
They saw early pictures of the Waynes. Bruce off to preschool in his uniform. Bruce and proud parents outside Lincoln Memorial. "Bruce's Washington years," Chloe said to herself. Bruce and Daddy fishing in Vermont. A beaming Alfred giving Bruce a piggy-back. Then Bruce – age eight – no longer smiling, beside Alfred at the Gotham Fairgrounds. Another sombre picture of Bruce and Alfred outside his private school. Alfred and Bruce again fishing in Vermont. Alfred trying to grin. Bruce with a steely glaze. He was 15, but easily looked 25. He was mad at the world – a world that stole his parents from him at age seven.  
  
A tear welled up in Chloe's eye. She wiped it away.  
  
"Are you OK, Chloe?"  
  
"He's still hurting, Clark. After almost twenty years, he's still baring the burden of his parents' murder. It's eating him up inside."  
  
Chloe stood up and looked at the ever-present Wayne coat of arms. The motto: Eternal Vigilance preserves Justice. A shelf below held all Bruce's honors: All-American at Gotham State. Rowing trophy from Oxford. A picture with the Dalai Lama. Atop the fireplace mantle was a picture of his mother and father.  
  
Chloe started. "All these achievements, the training, the travelling, it's all ... how can I put this ... in preparation for something. But what?"  
  
Clark knew the answer. His life needs meaning. Mom and Dad tried their best to give him an average upbringing, but Clark knew – he KNEW – that he could never be "average". Bruce didn't even have the luxury of parents, except Alfred. Bruce had to do everything -- BECOME everything – to put some order in his life. Make his life worth living. In many ways Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne were alike, searching for a meaning in their lives, looking for a goal ... a mission ...  
  
"A calling," Clark mused to himself.  
  
"Huh?" Chloe was looking at Bruce's photo in front of the White House with a depressed Al Gore, post-Florida chads.  
  
Clark looked at the dragon/bat beside the coat of arms. My god, he's been battling demons since his parents died. He still is.  
  
"Nothing, Chloe." You can't understand, Clark thought. I know what it's like to be alone. 


	6. CH. 6

Chapter 6  
  
Bruce read several papers in his study after breakfast. This morning's papers had Bruce front and centre. Headlines screaming about an attempt on his life. Bruce wanted to ask Lex about damage control, but Lex was caught up in the whole 'your-bodyguard-punched-my-cameraman' scandal and was defending himself on Good Morning America.  
  
He stared at his laptop, going over the computer-generated trajectory of the bullet that almost claimed his life. He read the press release from GCPD. The assailant had a fake Russian passport and press credentials. He had a letter containing vague references to the crisis in Bosnia. The President had sent an envoy last night to patch things up with Eastern European leaders.  
  
"The International Court," Alfred concluded.  
  
"My thoughts, too," Bruce muttered. He knew there was a risk his involvement could attract unwanted attention. I did it for Dad, he told himself, that MAKES the risk worth taking.  
  
He looked at the bullet's trajectory again. Clark Kent should be dead. The bullet would have punctured his lung and exited through his spine. Clark would have drowned in his own blood if he didn't die instantly, but all Clark had to show for it was a minor scratch – likely from falling onto Tom Brokaw's chair. Bruce began typing.  
  
NAME: Kent, Clark  
  
ORIGIN: Smallville  
  
KNOWN ACQUAINTANCES: Lex Luthor. Could be cause for concern in the future. Chloe Sullivan. No cause for concern, for the moment.  
  
SUMMARY: Saved me from a burning copter with barely a scratch, despite fact that the Kent farm a mile away from crash site. Managed to avoid injury despite nearly point-blank shot from a Glock semi-automatic.  
  
CONCLUSION: Too much circumstantial evidence. Would not merit attention, except for Clark's relationship with Lex.  
  
ACTION: File for future reference.  
  
I'm sorry Clark, Bruce thought to himself, I hope I can trust you.  
  
[GOTHAM CITY – Downtown]  
  
Clark and Chloe were taking a ferry across Gotham Harbor. The skyline was pierced by tall skyscrapers, factories, cathedrals, Wayne Center: home of the Gotham Knights NHL team.  
  
"Look there's the Gotham Times building!" Chloe exclaimed. She was enjoying this afternoon with Clark. They didn't need to be back at the conference until later this afternoon and she was going the savour every second with Mr. Kent.  
  
Clark looked at the steel tower of Wayne Corp. That sword-wielding angel and dragon/bat were keeping watch like gargoyles on either side of the building.  
  
"I wonder if Bruce is ok."  
  
"He's probably closing a deal on some big contract," Chloe guessed.  
  
The ferry pulled into the dock. "Let's go shopping!" Chloe grabbed Clark's arm. She was in Gotham City with an unattached Clark Kent. Nothing could spoil her mood today. Nothing.  
  
Clark suddenly froze in his footsteps. His face began to flush red.  
  
"Clark? What gives?" Chloe then looked at the end of the dock. Damn. It's her.  
  
"Lana, is that you?" Clark jaw dropped.  
  
Lana Lang, the object of every Smallville boy's affection, waved to him. Lana was especially yummy in her floral print summer dress and strappy sandals. Clark ran up to Lana, oblivious to the dejected reporter beside him.  
  
Wipe the drool from your mouth, Chloe pouted silently, your dream girl is waving at you. 


	7. CH. 7

Chapter 7  
  
Chloe put a protective arm around Clark.  
  
"Hi Lana!" Yeah, Ms. Lang, I'M with Clark.  
  
"So what brings you to Gotham City, Lana?" Clark asked. Wow, he thought, Lana looks awesome.  
  
"I'm just here for the day," Lana explained, "Mom is looking for a contractor for the shop renovations. She's busy with work ... and I'm busy with her credit card!"  
  
Clark anticipated that he'd better explain – fast – that he and Chloe were strictly platonic: no mushy stuff here. "Bruce Wayne invited us to attend the big journalism conference."  
  
Lana remembered the CNN reports and noticed the bandage on Clark's forehead. "Oh my god!" Lana touched his head. "Are you ok."  
  
"Yup. Saving billionnaire socialites is all in a day's work for Clark Kent, reporter."  
  
"Wanna join us for some shopping?" Yeah, Chloe told herself, a peace offering. It'll show Clark I'm not a raving jealous type ... even though I'm sooo jealous of Clark's seemingly unconditional fawning over Lana.  
  
How does she make her hair do that thing in the breeze?  
  
"Sure!" Great, Lana sighed, so much for uncovering the Clark Kent mystique on my own. How does Chloe do that thing with her hair in the breeze?  
  
They hailed a cab for the Union Square mall – about a block from Wayne Corp. HQ.  
  
"I can introduce you to Bruce," Good move, Clark told himself, throw Bruce in the mix as a diversion.  
  
Both Lana and Chloe smiled at each other. A 'throwing-down-the-gauntlet-I- accept-your-challenge' smile. I'd better take them to see Bruce first, Clark thought, or I'll never get out of the mall alive. I wish I could just fly outta here. Clark let his mind wander again.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts?" Either Chloe or Lana asked the question. Which one? They're both good friends. I answer to the wrong girl, the other one will feel slighted. Add my confused feelings for Chloe AND my too-obvious attraction to Lana, and you have a recipe for a bizarre love triangle worthy of a Dawson's Creek episode. Help!  
  
Clark reached for the big W handle on the Wayne Corp. door. "Here we are, ladies." Close call, Clark thought, I'd rather face another bullet about now.  
  
[Bruce Wayne's office]  
  
"Please take a seat," Bruce's executive assistant said, "Mr. Wayne will see you in a moment."  
  
Chloe nestled in the luxurious black leather couch. "Must be IKEA for Millionnaires" Lana sat in the other couch, leaving just enough space for Clark.  
  
This is a test, Clark noted. He wisely chose the single seat beside the coffee table. Neutral like the Swiss.  
  
The oak doors flung open. "Clark." He shook his hand. "Chloe" He bent down to give her a peck on the cheek.  
  
"Lana Lang from Smallville"  
  
Bruce gave her a courtly bow and shook her hand. "Weren't you in that Cover Girl commercial?"  
  
"I'm more of a Maybelline gal myself," she replied. Bruce held the office door open and let them in.  
  
Clark spotted today's Daily Planet on the desk. FOILED ATTEMPT ON WAYNE'S LIFE. CAMERAMAN CRYS FOUL ON TUSSLE WITH LEX GOON. KANSAS FARMBOY A HERO.  
  
"Great," Clark complained, "I'm 'Farmboy'. Not exactly Spiderman, is it?"  
  
Chloe picked up the Gotham Gossip Revue. WHO'S THAT GIRL? PERT BLONDE COMFORTS WAYNE DURING FIREFIGHT.  
  
"Hey, I'm 'pert'" Chloe laughed.  
  
"Hey, I'd take 'pert' over 'farmboy' anyday," Clark groaned.  
  
Bruce checked his watch. He would deliver the conference's closing address. He could walk over to the convention center, but Superintendant Gordon was planning a GCPD motorcycle escort. He could hear the sirens wailing outside.  
  
"I'd recommend you go with me. GCTV's Live Eye truck just parked outside. Care to join us, Ms. Lang?"  
  
Please say no, please say no, Chloe hoped.  
  
"Umm, ok. We wouldn't want to disappoint the paparazzi, now would we?" Everyone laughed. Except Chloe, who just smiled passively.  
  
"What's Lex up to?" Clark wondered.  
  
Bruce pointed at the TV set. "See for yourself." Lex was on the Today show, trying to defend his reasons for authorizing the use of deadly force against the assassin.  
  
"I made the call. Life or death. I chose to save lives."  
  
"But you silenced the only man who could explain why ... why Mr. Wayne."  
  
"I won't speculate on why. My friend was in danger. I hope the son-of-a- bitch who pulled the trigger rots in hell. I have no regrets about sending him there."  
  
"What of allegations the Russian mob –backed by Luthor money- ordered the hit?"  
  
"This interview is over. Expect a call from my attorney within the hour."  
  
"He's playing to the crowd," Chloe stated, "you'd think he was running for Congress."  
  
"Give Lex a break," Clark pleaded, "Who knows what would have happened if the assassin had his way?"  
  
I wouldn't be too trusting in your pal Lex, Bruce thought, Chloe is closer to the mark than you realize.  
  
The private elevator descended to the basement, where Alfred and about 30 of GCPD's Finest waited.  
  
Superintendant Gordon talked on his CB. "Units 1 through 15 move out." The motorcycles began to flank the limousine. Bruce motioned everyone towards the limo. He slowly looked around the parking lot and scanned some of the cops. One cop caught his attention. He nodded to Bruce. Bruce nodded back. The cop's hand rested on his holster.  
  
"Clark. Hit the ground," Bruce whispered. Everything happened quickly. The cop unbuttoned his holster and aimed it at Bruce's forehead. "He's mine," someone said. A shot fired. Clark dove to shield Chloe and Lana with his body. He heard someone scream in pain. Then the most hideous sound: a gurgle of blood. 


	8. CH. 8 - The Conclusion

Chapter 8  
  
Bruce lay on the ground.  
  
"Bruce! Bruce!" Clark shook him. Lana was crying. Chloe tried to comfort her. Every cop had his weapon drawn.  
  
Bruce looked at Superintendant Gordon, whose revolver was smoking. The 'cop' who nodded at Bruce lay in a pool of blood.  
  
"Dear god," Alfred gasped.  
  
"Another assassin," Bruce acknowledged.  
  
"I meant him," Alfred pointed at another body. A cop on the other side of the limo was slouched on his motorcycle.  
  
"Officer down! Officer down!" one of the cops yelled.  
  
Clark patted Bruce on the shoulder. "It's not your fault. It was the assassin. HE pulled the trigger."  
  
Ambulance sirens wailed in the distance. It didn't matter now. The cop already passed away.  
  
"Superintendant Gordon. THAT cop gets a full police funeral. I'll spare no expense." He leaned against a concrete pillar. "No expense." He crumpled to the ground.  
  
Clark stared in utter disbelief. Chloe said Gotham City would be life- changing. This isn't right, this shouldn't happen.  
  
All my powers, the speed, the strength. For what? Clark walked behind a van. I should have stopped that bullet. With my hand, my chest ... something!  
  
"Clark are you ok?" Chloe asked.  
  
"I don't know," Clark mumbled. Chloe gave him a hug. When will Clark let me in, she asked herself. She wanted to be a big-city reporter, but this city was just too dark – too dangerous for her taste.  
  
Clark saw that Alfred was helping Lana into a police cruiser. "You'd better stay with Lana, Chloe." Chloe nodded and left. Clark is still a mystery, she thought ... like Bruce. Clark watched as the coroner hovered over the corpse of one of Gotham's Finest.  
  
Another hand reached out to Clark. "You've been there for me," Bruce said, "Let me be here for you." Bruce helped Clark up and took him to a waiting car. Bruce stared blankly at his city. The skies opened up in a shower of rain. Another innocent dies in my name, Bruce pondered. My mission cannot fail. It was also raining the day Bruce's life was shattered in a senseless crime. He looked over at Clark, who buried his head in his lap. There would be no closing address to the conference today.  
  
"Alfred, I'm accelerating the schedule. The basement project. I want it done by the end of summer."  
  
[Later that night]  
  
Bruce opened up his laptop and typed.  
  
ASSESSMENT FILE: Kent, Clark  
  
DO YOU WISH TO DELETE FILE Y/N?  
  
"Yes." All his observations of the Smallville farmboy were erased.  
  
"I take it he has your confidence, Master Bruce."  
  
"He does. And my respect."  
  
"You'll erase that pesky photographic memory of yours, too?"  
  
Bruce chuckled. "I don't have to answer that, do I?"  
  
[Smallville Train Station, July 6]  
  
"Home at last!" Chloe declared.  
  
"It's nice to be home," Clark answered.  
  
Pete pulled up at the station. "Partying with Bruce Wayne, guys? I thought you'd never come back."  
  
"Bruce can have Gotham," Chloe replied, "it's not all martinis and roads paved with gold."  
  
Clark remembered those fateful days in Gotham and nodded. "I think Gotham City's in good hands," Clark added. Another summer of chores for Farmboy.  
  
"I'm only here for a day," Chloe stated, "Then I have to catch my train to Metropolis."  
  
"Oh yeah, the Daily Planet. Lucky girl," Clark remarked.  
  
"Luck has nothing to do with it," Chloe proclaimed, "I heard you got yourself some work too."  
  
"Bruce said I could copy edit some of his speeches," Clark answered, "in between fertilizing the wheat fields and mending the cattle fences."  
  
"Ok – farmboy. Have a nice summer." She looked into his eyes. He looked into hers. She moved in – and gave him a peck on the cheek. That's it, Chloe mused, give him a taste of what he'll be missing this summer. Chloe got into Pete's car for the ride home.  
  
"Make sure you wash your hands before come over to visit, farmboy," Pete joked. Clark waved goodbye as the car sped off. Clark took out a polaroid. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent on the steps of the Gotham's Hall of Justice. 'Seize the day' Bruce had scribbled behind the photo.  
  
Chloe doesn't leave for another day. He ran after Pete's car. I've got one day, Clark told himself, DON'T screw it up.  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
Lionel Luthor, high above the Atlantic in Luthor Corp.'s private jet, dialed the satellite phone.  
  
"No payment for services NOT rendered. Nyet. No payment! I don't care if you're upset. Bruce Wayne is alive! Haven't you read a goddamn paper lately?! You're professionals, yet you can't even kill a  
  
pompous playboy charlatan!"  
  
A cop died instead. Collateral damage, Lionel thought. Lex's apparent friendship with Bruce was far more vexing. Worse – Lex may actually like being friends with Bruce.  
  
He read the headline of the Daily Planet: WAYNE ESCAPES ASSASSIN. GCPD PROMISES SWIFT ACTION.  
  
"I welcomed the death of your father, Bruce Wayne. I will welcome yours someday. One day, I will bring you to your knees. Count on it." 


End file.
